


petrichor

by seascrypt



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Study, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seascrypt/pseuds/seascrypt
Summary: The first time they had done this—breaching the defenses of the carefully drawn borders that outlined their relationship—Siegfried had lingered in the doorway to the royal baths and said, “I’m dangerous.”Six steps to an understanding.
Relationships: Aglovale/Siegfried (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	petrichor

_And of course I forgive,_ _  
_ _You’ve seen how I live,_ _  
_ _I’ve got darkness and fears to appease._

—Vienna Teng

  
  
  


**1**

The first time they had done this—breaching the defenses of the carefully drawn borders that outlined their relationship—Siegfried had lingered in the doorway to the royal baths and said, “I’m dangerous.”

He had meant to say something else. _This would be a mistake,_ maybe. _Are you sure about this, laying yourself bare to me? The risks far outweigh the reward._

Aglovale, who had already dismissed the guards, who had already taken off his pauldrons, and his gauntlets, and had his fingers curled over his left vambrace, had paused to look at him. His expression had been inscrutable, then. 

“If you’ve reconsidered your position on this, then be plain about it,” Aglovale had said. “I will not hold it against you, if that is your concern.” 

“It’s not… I haven’t changed my mind,” Siegfried had returned.

“Then?” 

Aglovale had looked like he had wanted to say something more. His features, closed, sharp, unforgiving even at the best of times, were so different from Siegfried’s own. Yet in that moment, Siegfried had thought, surprised, that he and Aglovale made the same face when they caught revealing words before they could leave their mouths. 

He had shifted his gaze and stared at the length of Aglovale’s fingers. He had never felt them before; had wondered if they were calloused, like that of a warrior, or smooth, like that of a king. Aglovale wielded a sword and magic with the kind of grace dancers trained their whole lives to master. He wielded a quill with the same ferocity as a mercenary, jaded and brutal. 

(Josef’s hands, Siegfried remembered, had never wielded a sword for anything more than show. They had been soft and steady and unhurried.)

Siegfried had swallowed. 

“I don’t,” he had said, carefully, “want you to underestimate the risk of—being… with me.”

 _Vulnerable._ The missing word. Siegfried then, as Siegfried had always done in moments of uncertainty, ached to curl his fingers around the hilt of his sword. To grip the leather wrapping and ground himself in the worn texture of it. 

“I see,” Aglovale had murmured. Then, with eyes glinting like light off a blade, and a voice that could cut through iron, he had asked: “Is it my judgment you doubt, or your own?”

Siegfried hadn’t replied. There had been no need—the way he had held Aglovale’s gaze in silence spoke louder than words could have. 

“I have stopped you before, Siegfried,” Aglovale had said, uncharacteristically gentle. In one fell breath, the fight had drained from his features. “Trust that I will do so again, should the situation call for it.”

He had wanted to trust him. (Had wanted to then, wanted to now—always wanted to, wanted to have someone to turn to in moments of joy and pain, pleasure and weakness.) So Siegfried had exhaled, released the tension from his frame and quieted the loudest corners of his mind.

“Let me,” he had said, more bravely than he had felt, and went to unclasp the ties holding up Aglovale’s cloak. 

  
  
  


**2**

It was said that dragons could not burn. 

Siegfried, who had partaken of Fafnir’s blood, would argue otherwise. 

He burned now, in the dark of Aglovale’s room. Burned where Aglovale’s right hand touched a sly path down Siegfried’s bare chest and stroked his abdomen. Burned in the places where Aglovale’s gaze paused. Assessed. Appreciated. Burned especially where Aglovale’s left hand was fisted in his hair; burned with such fervent desire that he was overwhelmed by even this—Aglovale, tightening his hold, mouth curving into a smirk when Siegfried exhaled a shuddery breath. 

Finding out Siegfried liked this had been an accident. The first time they had indulged in each other, half-submerged in the bath, Siegfried’s hair had been wet and Aglovale’s fingers had hooked into a knot. He had mistakenly tugged at it, pulling from Siegfried a sound he hadn’t known he could make. A sound that had seen Aglovale’s eyes widening, then darkening. 

Aglovale used the newfound knowledge to his advantage. Siegfried could hardly find reason to object. It gave him freedom to push and Aglovale leave to pull. Like now: Siegfried wanted to lean forward and drag his tongue across the length of Aglovale’s collarbone. Wanted to worry the skin at the base of Aglovale’s neck, to leave behind a collar of bruises that wouldn’t fade until long after he had left Wales’ borders. 

More than both, he wanted to catch Aglovale’s bottom lip with his teeth, tug him close and then nurse the wounds he left. But the grip on his hair held firm. Aglovale had him leashed in place like this, forcing him to be the one to bare his throat. Siegfried could drown in the sensation of Aglovale making a home for his mouth against the underside of Siegfried’s jaw. He could sink into the heady rush that was Aglovale marking him, Aglovale sliding his hand lower to where Siegfried strained against his thigh. Yearned to, even.

It was exhilarating. 

It was also terrifying. If he lost himself to this, what else could he lose himself to? The thought soured in his stomach.

Aglovale delivered a final nip near Siegfried’s chin and drew back. He angled Siegfried’s head with a twist of his hand, leaning in for a kiss, and paused. His right hand withdrew and his left, slowly, leaving behind a bittersweet ache, loosened its grip in Siegfried’s hair. Aglovale eyes met his own, searching for—something. 

“What is it?” inquired Siegfried.

Siegfried caught the brief flash of irritation that crossed Aglovale’s face. If he hadn’t been staring straight at him he would have missed it for how quickly it was chased away—by another emotion, one Siegfried couldn’t place. It was softer and looked akin to understanding, or at least, the willingness to understand. 

“I should be asking you that,” Aglovale said. Where his hand had held tight before, it now ran smoothly through locks of brown hair. “What troubles you?”

“What?” Siegfried repeated. 

“If you—we can stop, Siegfried. Doing this is hardly a—” Aglovale frowned thinly. “—requirement. If it no longer suits you—”

“No,” Siegfried cut in, quickly. Now he understood what it was that Aglovale had seen scrawled plain on his face. “That’s not—Aglovale, I don’t want to stop.”

He watched Aglovale’s eyes cloud. Plot. Regroup. “Then tell me,” Aglovale said slowly, like he needed to feel out each word before he could speak them, “what I can do to make you stay.”

There was a pause. Aglovale’s words slipped through Siegfried’s skin like a knife through his ribcage, aiming for his lungs. Siegfried faltered on an exhale. 

“Here, in the moment,” clarified Aglovale. Even in the dim light, Siegfried could see Aglovale’s ears reddening. “I would have you enjoy yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Siegfried said. Amended, at Aglovale’s skeptical stare, “I was. I—got lost in thought, is all. But I’m here now.”

“...You’re certain?” Aglovale asked. 

“Completely,” Siegfried replied. 

He reached for Aglovale’s right hand and coaxed it into joining the left in his hair. Aglovale watched him, one part wary, one part curious. Siegfried offered him a smile, more coy than reassuring. He leaned in this time and pressed a kiss to the corner of Aglovale’s lips, and another to the underside of his jaw, and then one to his collarbone; he trailed further and further down, laved his tongue across the jut of Aglovale’s hip, and then took him wholly in his mouth.

And when Aglovale’s hands clenched around Siegfried’s long strands, pulling forth the sweetest, sharpest pain from his scalp, well. Siegfried closed his eyes and returned the gesture with a sweet sound of his own. 

  
  
  


**3**

The sound of thunder, followed by the first pattering of rain against the windowsill, was what spurred Aglovale into motion. 

Normally Siegfried was the first to move. He would sit up and reach for his fallen clothing and Aglovale would watch him dress with a shuttered expression, so heartbreakingly opposite from the openness he gifted Siegfried with when they tumbled together. When Siegfried put on his armor, so too did Aglovale. Siegfried couldn’t blame him. The knowledge bruised purple across the softest parts of him even so. 

Aglovale threw on a silken robe—with such a grace that even the haphazard draping of the fabric looked elegant—and went to close the windows. The rain drummed against the glass panes. Aglovale idled there, staring out at his kingdom. Siegfried observed him while he rose into a seated position, perching at the edge of the bed. 

It was dark out, no stars to be seen. A pity, truly. Siegfried found the sight of Aglovale dressed in moonlight mesmerizing. He knew that he was best suited to the sun, if that, but Aglovale—he was lovely in the cool glow of night, made ethereal with the way his golden hair shone silver. 

Siegfried allowed himself a moment more to admire before leaning down and feeling the ground for his clothing. He pulled on his tunic, first. Then his smalls, his socks, his breeches, and on it went until all that was left was for him to fasten were his gauntlets and his sheathed sword. He hesitated. 

It was then that Aglovale cast him a glance over his shoulder. His hair moved with the twist of his neck. It was tangled. 

Siegfried knew he shouldn’t linger. But he saw Aglovale’s tilt of the head for what it was: an invitation. He set his gauntlets and sword down on the bedcovers and went to join Aglovale at the window. 

Aglovale turned his head again, and again his hair moved with him. It swayed and fell, revealing a patch of skin that Aglovale’s robe had failed to cover. Siegfried froze at the sight. 

There was a bite mark on Aglovale’s shoulder. It was fresh, stark red against the pale of Aglovale’s skin. Siegfried didn’t remember putting it there. He ran his fingers along the path of the indents. Aglovale let him. 

“I asked,” Aglovale said. 

“What?”

He repeated, “I asked. In a manner of speaking.”

Siegfried sifted through their earlier activities in his mind’s eye. Aglovale hadn’t said anything about it, of that he was sure. But he had reached behind and cupped the back of Siegfried’s neck, pulled him close to his shoulder—close enough so Siegfried could hear him pant his name, first in full and then in breathless halves. Siegfried remembered sinking his teeth in, and the sound—that hitched, delightful sound—that had slipped from Aglovale’s lips… even better men than Siegfried would have been rendered helpless by that sound. _For_ that sound. 

“You didn’t,” Siegfried said quietly, “and I shouldn’t have done it. Not without your permission—”

“I did not tell you to stop, nor did I _make_ you stop,” Aglovale cut in. “Is that not proof enough of my permission?” 

_Maybe,_ Siegfried conceded. “Even so—”

“Siegfried,” Aglovale said. His voice had taken on its usual edge. “Enough. You caused me no harm. The opposite, rather. Leave it be.”

The silence that fell between them was nauseating. Lightning flashed in the sky, lengthening their shadows. The earth-shaking sound of thunder followed it. 

“Aglovale,” Siegfried said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done it. Not because of you—though I _am_ glad you’re unhurt—but because of me. It… is a limit I don’t want to cross.”

The tension that had crept into Aglovale’s shoulders without Siegfried’s noticing, loosened. He said nothing for a long moment. Siegfried found himself holding his breath. He released it only when Aglovale slowly turned to him. 

“Because you are dangerous,” Aglovale concluded.

It stung. It was the truth. 

“Yes,” said Siegfried. He chose not to elaborate further. 

Here again Aglovale made the expression Siegfried had come to associate with him wanting to say something more but holding back—for whose benefit, he couldn’t say for certain. Siegfried’s eyes mapped the angle of Aglovale’s brows, the sharp jut of his nose, his proud cheekbones, and the curve of his jaw. They lingered on his lips, for only a heartbeat, before trailing back up to meet his gaze. 

Siegfried thought, maybe, that he could read in the depths of Aglovale’s amber eyes what he wanted to say. _If you can’t find comfort in your bed partner, who can you find comfort with?_

Who, indeed. 

“Alright,” Aglovale said finally. “I will respect that.”

“Thank you,” Siegfried replied. 

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Aglovale’s shoulder, above the mark he had left, and then pressed a second to his lips. 

“I’ll take my leave then,” he said. “Goodnight, Aglovale.”

“...Goodnight,” Aglovale returned.

Siegfried retrieved his gauntlets and sword. He opened the door to leave but lingered in the doorway. He glanced back. Aglovale had his back turned to him, but as if sensing that Siegfried had paused, made a dismissive gesture with his hand. 

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud. 

  
  
  


**4**

“You’re not the first king whose bed I’ve lain in,” were the words Siegfried chose to break the silence with. 

It wasn’t exactly the most tactful way of having this conversation. Talking about a former lover, so soon after laying with his current one? Siegfried didn’t claim to be the most knowledgeable of men where social decorum was concerned, but even _he_ knew that what he was doing was distasteful. He wasn’t sure _why_ those words were the ones that had leapt to his lips, or why they had been close enough to reach for in the first place. 

(No, that was a lie. He knew. It had been clawing at him from the moment he’d crossed the threshold into the royal baths; an ugly, feral thing that had uncoiled and prowled forth from where it loitered in the depths of his being. It was old and familiar, in equal measure an enemy and an ally, whispering over and over— _you are the bane of kings, the harbinger of their ends._ )

Aglovale, as he often did now, watched Siegfried with narrowed eyes. Whether that was a consequence of the dark or simply the way Aglovale often observed him, like he was a knot to untangle, Siegfried couldn't say. He ached under the weight of Aglovale's gaze all the same.

“Should I ask who it was?” Aglovale asked. 

His voice was light. Siegfried turned the question over in his mind, tugged it apart and searched it for barbs. There were none. No daggers, nothing sharp. It was simply a question; Aglovale waiting for Siegfried to lead this dance. 

“I think you already know what the answer would be if you did,” Siegfried said. 

“Perhaps,” Agovale agreed. 

A pause. Siegfried waited for Aglovale to make the next move, to play his next piece. He watched as Aglovale considered the sweat stains on his bedsheets. 

“I am sorry,” he said eventually, “for your loss.”

Siegfried made a very quiet noise and dropped his gaze to stare at the damp patches. It wasn’t just sweat, he thought idly; Aglovale had panted against that fabric, had spilled tears onto it. He had reached behind him and pulled Siegfried close, had shuddered and come undone to the sound of Siegfried’s demanding whispers. 

“I think—I expected you to make a gibe about it,” Siegfried said. 

Aglovale’s mouth twisted, ruefully. “I know I can be callous,” he said, “but—it is my hope that you know that I would not be cruel to you. Certainly not about this.”

“I do know,” Siegfried conceded.

“Would… you rather I have?” Aglovale asked. 

His voice was quiet now. Small, in a way that Siegfried rarely heard from him. Aglovale was hardly the type to seek guidance from him—and yet, here he waited, sitting at Siegfried’s side, not a single garment of clothing between them, for some indication of how to proceed. 

“No,” Siegfried said. “No, that’s not—no.”

“Then tell me what is on your mind,” Aglovale said. “If I... know what it is you need me to offer, I will offer it.”

They weren’t good at this. Comfort. Aglovale was too sharp, Siegfried was too blunt, and more often than not they settled for the neutral ground of silence instead. That Aglovale reached for him like this, bearing an olive branch, it—

“Please,” Aglovale said, and stole the air from Siegfried’s lungs. 

Siegfried, suddenly, felt very exposed. Worse, he felt like he was just one word away from cracking in half and spilling all over the sheets he and Aglovale had explored each other on. If he stayed a minute longer, he was certain he’d never leave. 

“It’s nothing,” Siegfried said. 

“Siegfried,” Aglovale started. 

“Aglovale,” Siegfried said. “Truly, there’s nothing. This is enough. More than.”

He didn’t look convinced. It was easy enough to tell; Siegfried recognized the crease between Aglovale’s brows, the downward curl of the right corner of his lips. But Aglovale’s eyes hadn’t gone cold, his face remained open enough for Siegfried to read. A good sign. Heartening, even. 

Siegfried placed his hand atop Aglovale’s. He tilted forward, intent on kissing his temple. Aglovale turned his head at the last moment and Siegfried pressed his lips to Aglovale’s forehead instead. He left another on Aglovale’s cheekbone, and a final one to the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” Siegfried said. “For, well—thank you.”

Aglovale twisted his palm in Siegfried’s grip and twined their fingers together. He squeezed, just once, and held on until Siegfried pulled away to get dressed. 

  
  


**5**

A peace had settled, light as a summer blanket, over Aglovale’s bed. 

It was new, and fragile, and very much unfamiliar. Siegfried had never before laid in Aglovale’s bed for longer than a half hour after they’d finished sharing in each other, and yet here he was, half-covered in silk sheets, the better part of an hour later. He fought the urge to squirm where he lay, to break the silence with an idle observation or a quip—something that would make Aglovale bristle and pull them back into familiar territory, the kind where Siegfried could make his excuses and part. 

Except—Aglovale hadn’t bristled at anything Siegfried said in months. Aglovale received the teases, and the jabs, and the blows with grace and a look of understanding in his eyes that made Siegfried feel more vulnerable than he had felt in a long, long time. In fact, thinking upon it now, Aglovale had never once asked Siegfried to leave. Siegfried was always the one to end the affair, as gently as he could, but never as cleanly. 

Siegfried shifted to look at Aglovale. He was silently combing his fingers through his hair, undoing the knots in it. If he noticed Siegfried observing him, he didn’t say anything. He simply continued on, methodically pulling at the snarls until they came apart. Surely it would have been easier to use a hairbrush, but he seemed as disinclined to move as Siegfried suddenly did. 

He wondered what about this time was different. This tryst had begun just the same as all the others: with public pleasantries interspersed with quiet, private pockets of conversation. With gazes held from across rooms and the odd upward quirk of the lips, acknowledging. It had continued as it usually did, with Siegfried accompanying Aglovale to his quarters under the guise of discussing reports; with Aglovale’s hands prying Siegfried’s armor off of him; with Siegfried’s breath hot against Aglovale’s ear as he pressed him against the wall, and the mattress, and very nearly the floor before they thought better of it. 

And here it had ended, with Siegfried still on Aglovale’s bed. He had yet to move. Aglovale had gotten up once, to acquire a towel and gently clean them both, but he had tossed the cloth aside without second thought when he finished and returned to bed without a word. Now they waited, side by side, but not quite together, breathing into the dark of the night, for someone to break this truce between them. 

Siegfried broke first. 

“I should go,” he said. 

He didn’t make a single move to leave. Rather, he waited and listened to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, felt its rhythmic throb in the tips of his fingers. 

“If you’d like,” Aglovale replied. 

No agreement. Nothing to give Siegfried the push he needed to leave. He tried again. 

“It’s… I shouldn’t stay,” he said. “I’m—”

“Dangerous, yes, I am aware,” Aglovale said. 

His response came easily—well-worn words almost flippant in their delivery. This was not the first time they’d had this conversation. It wouldn’t be the last, either, provided that Aglovale kept inviting Siegfried into his bed, and Siegfried kept accepting the invitation. 

“It is true,” Siegfried said, weakly now. 

Aglovale fixed his gaze on him. “You are no more dangerous than anything I must deal with, as king,” he said. “Stop fretting. All it does is cast doubt on my judgment.”

“Maybe your judgment is in need of questioning,” Siegfried returned. 

Even that didn’t get a rise out of Aglovale. There was no anger, no irritation in the lines of his face. Some kind of detached curiosity at most. 

“What brought this on?” asked Aglovale, arching a brow. “This particular tête-à-tête is one you usually initiate earlier in the evening.”

“Is it so strange for me to care about the king’s welfare?” Siegfried said tersely.

“Siegfried,” Aglovale said, his voice finally tipping over into exasperation, and something else that Siegfried still, frustratingly, could not place. “If you wish to leave, then leave. I will not stop you.”

He won’t ask him to, either. 

“I don’t want to leave,” Siegfried admitted. His chest felt lighter with the confession. It ached, too. “That’s the problem.”

Aglovale paused. He hadn’t expected that answer, Siegfried could tell. There was rosy color dusting along the tops of Aglovale’s cheeks. 

“Tell me why,” he said. 

It wasn’t a request, nor was it an order. Siegfried felt compelled to obey regardless. He wanted to reach into the mire of his heart and offer it, like some kind of bizarre sacrifice, to Aglovale and say _here I am. If you can bear to look at this and still want it, I will give it._

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Siegfried said. “I don’t—want to see you hurt because of me.”

“Because of the dragonblood?” Aglovale asked. 

“That, and—” Siegfried made a fruitless gesture. He couldn’t meet Aglovale’s eyes. But he had to, somehow, someway, be truthful. “The last time I was with someone. The last time I stayed, and _wanted_ to keep staying, it—you know what happened.”

Aglovale released the breath he’d been holding. Siegfried chanced a look up. The look Aglovale directed at him was—it made Siegfried’s insides want to collapse in on themselves in surprise, in relief. Aglovale reached for him, drawing Siegfried into his embrace.

“We… Nothing is ever guaranteed. You and I both know that. But,” Aglovale said, voice low. “You are a risk worth taking, Siegfried.”

“Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you?” Siegfried asked, precariously close to Aglovale’s lips. 

“Nothing,” Aglovale replied. 

Siegfried closed his eyes, then the distance. Aglovale pressed back, sliding his fingers into Siegfried’s hair. 

Sliding them home. 

  
  
  


**6**

The morning sun splashed across Siegfried’s face and saw him stir. He blinked once, twice, and blearily took in his surroundings. Being in Aglovale’s bed was expected—being in Aglovale’s bed _alone_ was not. He sat up and ran a hand over his eyes. 

“How rare,” came a warm, amused voice from his right, “for me to be awake before you.”

Siegfried moved his hand and turned. His vision was flooded with gold. A curtain of Aglovale’s hair, blocking out everything else, including the daylight. Siegfried felt a smile tug at his lips. Aglovale caught his face with both hands and tilted it up, delivered a kiss to his brow.

“‘Morning,” Siegfried mumbled. 

“Good morning,” Aglovale returned. He wasn’t, as Siegfried had come to learn, much of a morning person; the ease with which he replied betrayed how long he’d already been awake. “There is tea on the desk.”

A desk which Siegfried didn’t need to look at to know was already covered in unrolled parchment scrolls. Aglovale was many things—keeper of an organized desk was not one of them. 

Aglovale pulled away. Siegfried followed, shedding the covers he’d been tucked under. He traced Aglovale’s footsteps to the desk and its accompanying chair, whereupon Aglovale had folded Siegfried’s clothes and collected his armor in a neat pile. Siegfried reached for his tunic first. 

He dressed slowly. Smiled a little when Aglovale stopped shuffling through papers to admire him. Smiled more when Aglovale’s admiration was revealed for what it was—mild irritation at how haphazardly Siegfried was buckling the straps of his armor. He gave Aglovale space to adjust them to his liking. 

This was intimate, he thought, watching Aglovale’s hands at work. Even more intimate than how they were last night, when Siegfried had had his mouth around Aglovale and Aglovale had gone pliant beneath him. As intimate as when Aglovale had let him brush his hair and pull it into a lopsided braid before they retired for the night. Siegfried had expected Aglovale to rectify his misshapen results; instead, he’d run a hand along the length of the braid and kept it as it was. 

Aglovale slowed when he reached the leather that held Siegfried’s sword to his back. There was something close to hesitancy in his movements, something taking on the form of resignation. Siegfried was reminded, keenly, of his own movements before choosing to spend the night, all those nights ago. 

In many ways, he and Aglovale were very different. Siegfried burned. Aglovale frosted over. Siegfried left. Aglovale stayed. In other ways, they were the same. They both felt fear, deep and gnawing in their chests. Siegfried still hesitated to stay, forever scratching at an old wound. Aglovale still was afraid to let him go, forever fearing that he wouldn’t return. 

It was no wonder Aglovale accepted Siegfried’s fears so easily. He understood them. Everyone Siegfried had loved had died; everyone Aglovale had loved had left. 

“Aglovale,” Siegfried murmured, catching his hand where it worried at a buckle. “I’ll be back. By month’s end.”

He watched as the slope of Aglovale’s shoulders eased, as the severity of Aglovale’s expression softened back into something private and familiar. 

“Good,” Aglovale said, quietly, just for them. 

Later, when they were surrounded by guards and well-wishers, he would repeat it again. A promise for Aglovale to hold and for Siegfried to keep. And Aglovale, holding Siegfried’s amber gaze with his own, would say, perhaps more bravely than he felt, “Safe travels, Siegfried.”

**Author's Note:**

> i remember fondly when having a fic titled _petrichor_ was practically a rite of passage on ff dot net. i'm several years late, but i can finally say i'm a member of those ranks.
> 
> this fic started out as a single scene, step 4, and spiraled out of control and became a 5+1. it did the opposite of my first fic for this pair, which started out as a 10+1 before being pared down. step 4 originally belonged to that 10+1. it was, i believe, the first siegfried/aglovale scene i'd ever written. it has since undergone some transformation, but the heart of it remains very much the same. you could say that i wrote an entire fic around it; a fic that i consider to be my love letter to this pair.
> 
> as always, thank you to :hatching_chick: for your support, your patience, and your willingness to listen to me howl about trying to keep d wolf brain in check. and to danny, thank you for listening to me go on and on about these two men. you kept me inspired. this one's for you.


End file.
